The Phantom Puzzler
by shadow talon girl
Summary: Professor Layton has disappeared, London is being struck by a series of crimes, and in the midst of the confusion, a strange letter arrives in the small town of Mishallery... (Basically a Dark!Layton AU, heh... set more or less 20 years after Unwound Future)
1. Prologue

**Okay, I'm gonna make this brief because I don't want to get in the way of the story: this fanfiction was basically written as part of a self-indulgent AU me and my friend made. It's set roughly 20 years in the future, Luke's in his 30s and Layton's somewhere in his late 50s. Also since the games kind of don't have a definite timeline, I'm sticking with an _almost_ modern time... say, flip-phone era? Alright enough explanation, hope you enjoy!**

Prologue: A Curious Correspondence

It was a calm, quiet morning. The type of morning best spent on a leisurely walk down the cobbled streets to part the remaining fog, reveling in the cool silence before the summer sun chases it all away. The type of morning where everyone throws open their windows to let in some of the breeze and get the energy of the day flowing throughout their homes. Well, perhaps not everyone.

Luke Triton looked out into the village streets and let out a sigh. It had been quite a few years since he'd moved back to his birthplace in Misthallery, and at first it had been so thrilling, starting as a teacher's assistant at the local college before moving up to full-time English teacher. He'd been so excited, and of course the Professor had been happy for him as well. The two of them corresponded often enough, that no sooner had he heard the news did he rush right down to personally congratulate his former apprentice.

That was the last time he'd seen the Professor in person. Of course, they still corresponded quite a bit through letters; though they could just as easily call one another, the two of them both preferred the old fashioned way (it felt more genuine, as Hershel put it). Luke would tell him all about his students and colleagues, and read with fascination about Layton's continued work alongside Scotland Yard. But after a while, the letters became fewer and further between. For every three Luke would send, he would receive but one in reply. It was painful, feeling them grow apart like this, and after they'd promised each other that they'd be friends forever those many years ago. Luke had tried to organize another meeting for them but it seemed something always came up for one of them.

And that wasn't even his biggest problem.

He got up from the window and shuffled over to his desk, straightening out a stack of papers he had shoved off to the side in an attempt to make it at least _look_ organized. He stared at the parchment paper in the center. It contained just three words, "Dear Professor Layton", and as much as he tried he couldn't think of anything else to put after them.

Five. Five unanswered letters. It had started only a couple months ago, at the beginning of summer, when Luke had stumbled onto a news report about a mysterious bank robbery in London. It had been masterfully done: there were no cameras left working, no prints or DNA to sample, and the only clue they had to the culprit was a puzzle. Written in an elaborate hand on a postcard that had been slipped into the emptied safe.

Naturally, Luke had jumped at the opportunity to mail the Professor about it; doubtless he was already working with the Inspector to try and track down the culprit, but still Luke couldn't help but wonder if maybe, this could be a chance for a reunion? A chance to have master and apprentice together again for one last mystery?

Layton hadn't responded. A few short weeks later he'd seen another report of a similar incident, and two more after that, each time the same troublesome situation, no evidence save for a puzzle on a postcard.

With every new story he had mailed his old friend, and his letters, he feared, had been getting more and more desperate. Why hadn't he written back? Why did it seem like he wasn't doing anything to solve it? He had even called Scotland Yard to see if they had any information, but they refused to release it to him, said it was classified.

He wondered if he should bother calling Layton. He rarely answered his phone (Luke didn't know why a man his age would bother getting a cellular phone, particularly if he wasn't even going to use it) and for some reason he felt like it would be rude to just leave a message for him without speaking to him in person.

Still, he looked back and forth from the mostly blank paper on his desk to the small black phone plugged into the outlet by the wall, wondering for a bit if either of them would be worth a try.

He took a deep breath, trying to fight off the nerves that gripped him. Whatever he was going to do, he was in no state to do it now. For now, perhaps it was best if he made himself get out of the house and enjoy the morning. It would do him well, a quiet walk to clear his head and maybe quell some of the doubts he was beginning to have in his old mentor.

Mind made up, he stood up from his desk, pocketing his phone and slipping on a jacket (he realized he had forgotten to change into his pajamas again last night, and promised himself for the fourth time in a row that it wouldn't happen again). He grabbed his blue cap off the hat rack and reached for the doorknob –

 _Knock, knock._

Luke blinked, stepping back from the door. Had he heard it right? He stared at it for a second, silently, listening for –

 _Knock, knock-knock._

There it was! He hadn't been hearing things after all. Quickly, he swung the door open. A short, stout man in a postal uniform stood looking up at him, holding a letter and looking rather inconvenienced.

"Are you Luke Triton?" he asked.

"U-uh," Luke stammered, "yes, I am. What is, er…?"

Luke jumped back as the man thrust out his hand. "Letter for you."

He blinked. "Oh!" he said, taking the letter and looking it over.

"See what it says on the back there, it says 'please deliver in person'. Now I don't know what kind of man this Hershel is, thinking he can just ask for special treatment like that, but at any rate you-"

"Ah, yes, thank you sir," Luke interrupted, "I'm very grateful, now if you'll excuse me." He shut the door, the man still standing in the same spot with his hand held out. After a second he felt guilty, and he opened the door for another moment to add "Have a nice day," before slamming it again.

Luke rushed back over to the desk, shedding the jacket onto the floor. This was from the Professor alright, there was no mistaking his signature wax seal. Grinning with anticipation, he tore open the letter, not bothering to dig through the drawers for his letter opener, and laid it out on the desk to read.

 _My dear Luke,_ it said:

 _Hope you are enjoying your summer vacation so far. Good to hear your job is treating you well, but it's always nice to take a bit of time away for oneself; I'm trying to convince the new dean of that, but he's not hearing any of it. Zero personal days for the summer, and the days I do have for myself sadly don't allow me much time for independent work. But enough bad news for now, I don't want our limited time corresponding to be riddled with negativity._

 _Let's just focus on the positive, shall we? For instance, I hear Misthallery may be opening up its own university soon. Great news, especially considering they'll likely need a good English teacher, and I believe I can recommend them one._

 _Luke Triton, English gentleman and puzzle-solver extraordinaire, a university professor… I think it quite suits you. Unless, of course, you're happy with your current college and would rather stay there, in which case I fully understand; university life can be stressful to say the very least._

 _Oh, but I digress. Lingering on one subject for too long has that effect, all it takes is the first word – nay, the first letter even, and soon the mind begins to wander. Maybe it's time I get back to my lesson plans before Dean Atbash gets on to me for being unproductive. Well, at any rate it was nice hearing from you, and I apologize if I rambled a bit. Love to talk to you more, but as it is circumstances prevent me from seeing you, or anyone who isn't a student or a colleague, really. May be a while before I can write to you again, but until then I wish you all of the best._

 _Deepest regards,_

 _Professor Hershel Layton._

… Luke raised an eyebrow, scanning each paragraph again several times to make sure he'd read them correctly. Not one single mention of the robberies _or_ of Scotland Yard. He crossed his arms angrily; if anything, it seemed like the only reason he'd bothered to write at all was to tell Luke he was busy and to stop bothering him! And what was this about a new dean, anyway? Whatever happened to Delmona? Well sure, he'd be quite old by now, but still Luke saw no reason to replace him, and he had never heard of this "Dean Atbash"…

Atbash… something about that name sounded familiar to him. He couldn't quite place it, but he knew he'd heard it somewhere. In fact, wasn't it the Professor he'd heard it from? The Atbash… something?

Out of curiosity, he went over to his bookshelf to see if he could find anything about it in the dictionary. He flipped through for a bit, but he didn't see the word anywhere.

He hummed thoughtfully. There had to be something to this. He took his phone out of his pocket, mentally crossing his fingers that his spotty internet connection would hold long enough for him to find –

There it was. The first result led him to a chart on the Atbash Cipher, a substitution cipher where "A" and "Z" are switched.

Was there… had the Professor hidden a code somewhere in the letter?

Experimentally, he tried writing down the letters at the beginning of each line, but after several minutes of switching around letters he ended up with nothing more than gibberish. Maybe there was a clue somewhere in the letter?

It took him only a second to notice it, when the Professor had been rambling about losing track of one's train of thought. The first letter… perhaps he meant the first letter of every sentence? He began to count them out:

 _HGZB LFG LU OLMWLM_

One by one, he filled in each letter with its substitution… but when he finally arrived at the hidden message, he felt a chill go down his spine.

 _STAY OUT OF LONDON_

That was it. No explanation, just… "Stay out of London". What was this supposed to mean? A threat? A cryptic warning of some kind? The Professor urging Luke not to get involved where he wasn't needed? Why would he bother even sending that letter if it's only purpose was to keep him away?!

The young man's head spun with questions. He heaved himself up from the desk and staggered back to the window, flinging it open and hoping that some fresh air would help calm his nerves. He took a few slow, deep breaths, steadying himself. But however hard he tried, that phrase kept barging into his mind.

After another moment, he slammed his hand down on the sill. He was fed up with being kept in the dark; it was time to find out what was going on here.

He whipped out his phone and called up the Professor before even giving it a second thought. It rang once… rang twice… and then a familiar voice chimed in:

"Good day to you, this is Hershel Layton, Professor of archaeology at-"

Luke groaned and hung up the phone. "Damn it, Hershel," he said aloud, "what do you think a phone is supposed to be for?"

He slammed the window shut irritably. Pacing over to an armchair, he looked up the number for the Professor's university and tried that instead. If he couldn't get a hold of Layton, surely someone could.

"Good morning, this is Gressenheller University," came the clear, friendly voice of the receptionist. "How may I help you?"

"Hello, this is Luke Triton," he introduced himself. "I'm a personal friend of Professor Layton; could you try and get a hold of him for me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the woman, "I'm afraid he's out for the summer."

Luke faltered. "W- uh, what do you mean he's out? I – I just received a letter from him this morning, with Gressenheller as the return address!"

There was a pause. "Well, I'm sorry Mr. Triton. It may be that he simply wished his post be sent to his office, because unless he's snuck back into the building to visit the library, I can assure you he has no reason to be here. He requested his summer classes be closed after a certain incident-"

"Incident? What incident?"

"Oh, er…" She sounded as if she'd said something she wasn't supposed to. "Well, it's… the board has asked us not to divulge any details except to the investigators…"

 _Investigators?_ "What could be so important as to warrant an investigation?" he inquired more urgently.

"UH…" the woman stammered. "I-I'm sorry, but unless there's something else I can do for you, I'm afraid I have work I need to do. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

He sighed. Clearly he wasn't going to get anything out of her. "That'll be all. Have a good day, miss."

"You too, sir. Thank you for calling." _Click._

Luke slumped back further into his chair, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. An incident at the university? An investigation? A series of crimes? And at the center of all this, a secret message in a letter reading "Stay away from London".

Now this was a mystery if he'd ever seen one.

Before he really realized what he was doing, Luke found himself in his room packing his suitcase. He didn't care what he said; something was definitely going on. He knew he couldn't say for certain, but something inside him told him that the Professor was in trouble. And he intended to do for Hershel what he would have done for him.

He picked up his jacket off the floor and slipped it back on. Glancing back at the desk, he spotted the letter lying in a patch of early sunlight coming in through the window. He grabbed it and stuffed it into his suitcase; he may just need it yet.

He opened the door, taking another deep breath. People were starting to come out of their homes, the low chatter of the marketplace could be heard in the distance. The day had begun.

With the burning awareness that he had next to no idea what he was doing, Luke stepped out into the morning air.

…

It was dark. Well, not so much dark as simply dim; the light from the flickering candles didn't do much good at illuminating the huge dining hall, but perhaps that was the way he liked it. He sat at the head of a long table, a glass of wine in one hand as he wrote furiously with the other in a small black notebook.

"I wonder," he said to himself. He looked up from his writing and across the table. There was but one other chair, which stood empty. For the moment, anyway.

"No," he said, his gaze cast downward once again, twirling the glass absentmindedly. "No, he wouldn't just rush off without thinking. Even if it's for a good cause."

He took a sip and looked up in thought. "But then…" he argued with himself, "it doesn't seem like him to ignore an obvious sign of distress. No, something tells me he won't be able to help it."

He smiled. It was a smile full of pride, but tinged with a strange sort of amusement.

"After all, that's what a gentleman does."


	2. Chapter One

**(Quick thank-you to everyone who's followed this story so far, even if it's only been out for a short time; you guys rule! I'm trying to work on some more chapters ahead of time, so the next one won't be out for a while, but I wanted to go ahead and post this one so I don't keep you guys waiting. Alright, review if you have the time, and I hope you enjoy!)**

...

Chapter One: Pieces to the Puzzle

It hadn't been long after Luke arrived in London that he realized he'd forgotten one very important thing before he'd left: a plan. Rushing straight down to help had been a noble thing to do, to be sure... but a rather ill-advised one.

Between all the banks that had been hit in the crime wave, there were too many variables for Luke to know where to begin. It was tempting to simply start at the most recent break in and work his way backwards, but he didn't want to deal with reporters and investigators crawling all over; he hadn't the time or the patience for that. And aside from that, truth be told he wasn't really here because of the bank robberies. So the most logical thing for him was not to start with any of them.

On the horizon, he began to see the shape of a familiar building. Gressenheller University, just as he remembered it. Sure, the robberies were certainly of concern to him, but for the moment, his first priority would be to find the Professor, and if he couldn't speak to him, to make sure that he was doing alright.

As Luke drove through the ornate gates of the school, he couldn't help but think back on the Professor's letter. Why had he said he was busy with lessons if he'd taken the summer off? Why would he deliberately lie to him like that?

Pulling up in front of the entrance, Luke stepped out, stumbling a bit as he had been driving for quite a while now and his legs had fallen asleep. He shook it off. _Did he honestly not think that I would find out?_ He continued musing to himself as he walked towards the front entrance. _Why would he lie about something like that, even? Couldn't he just give me an actual excuse as to why he's been ignoring me, instead of hiding from it?_

But it was more than that, and he knew it. He knew that the only reason for that kind of code, the only reason he would have bothered hiding this from him, was if something was wrong. And though he may not know what had happened, he knew the incident at the University was somehow connected to it.

Approaching the oaken double doors, Luke buttoned up his jacket and straightened his collar in an attempt to look more professional. He took a deep breath and let himself in to the building.

Once inside, there was a small room off to the left, behind which sat the receptionist typing away at her computer. He wasn't yet sure if this was the same woman he spoke to over the phone, but either way he'd have to remain professional. He cleared his throat as he approached the desk, and she looked up, as if surprised to see someone standing there.

"Ah! Good afternoon, sir," she began, "welcome to Gressenheller University. How may I help you?"

Luke groaned internally. It was the same woman, alright. And even if she didn't recognize his voice, she would surely remember him once he mentioned why he was here. He'd just have to think of something…

"Afternoon ma'am, I'm Luke Triton, I believe we spoke earlier. I'm, er… I'm here to assist in the investigation regarding Professor Hershel Layton."

The receptionist raised an eyebrow, eyes widening. She started to speak, but looked as if she wasn't sure what to say. "… Are you?" she asked, incredulous.

Luke adjusted his cap. _Stay calm, stay confident,_ he told himself. "Yes," he answered with newfound authority. "The professor and I have worked together before, assisting the police and Scotland Yard; I was his apprentice, and-"

"You're Luke?" she inquired. "But over the phone, you said you were just a personal friend."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive, ma'am. At any rate, I would like to know exactly what happened to the Professor," he demanded.

The woman looked doubtful. "Nothing's happened to him, sir, not as far as we know." She interrupted before Luke could speak again: "And unless you can show me some proper identification, I don't think I can help you."

"Madam, I-"

Luke was interrupted once again when he heard the large wooden door of the university creak open again. He turned around, meeting the gaze of a short, mustached man standing in the entrance hall.

The man soon broke out into a grin. "Luke, is that you?"

Luke matched his smile as he broke his stunned silence. "Barton!"

"Why, I haven't seen you in years," he continued, approaching the desk. He looked him up and down. "My, you've grown up!"

"And look at you, you don't look like you've aged a day," Luke complimented, and he wasn't lying, Barton looked exactly the same as when he'd last seen him (which had been some time ago).

"Hah! That's what I like to hear! You here to visit the Professor? I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but-"

"Oh no, I already know he's not here," Luke assured him. "I was trying to find out _why_."

"Ah, I see." Barton turned to the receptionist. "Afternoon, miss," he said, "I was just stopping by to do another quick once-over of the Professor's office. Luke here's with me; the two of us go way back, and I wouldn't mind having an extra pair of eyes to help me out, especially ones as keen as his."

The lady looked somewhat offended, but nonetheless nodded. "Very well, inspector," she said, "proceed."

Barton nodded back and left the office, Luke following close behind him. Once they had exited, he couldn't help but ask, "Inspector, eh?"

He smiled. "That's right! I was promoted a few years ago when Inspector Chelmey got moved up to commissioner."

"Well, that's great news for both of you! I've been English teacher at a local college in Misthallery."

"Well! Sounds like we've both gotten what we wanted to do," he said happily.

Luke did enjoy having time to catch up, but he knew that the two of them had more important matters to address. "So," he said, changing the subject, "do you think you can fill me in on what's been going on? I'm afraid the receptionist was anything but helpful."

"Ah, I see. Well, I'll tell you what we know so far. Several months ago, before summer had started, there was a break in. You see, the Professor has a record of finishing his lesson plans for the next semesters long in advance, in fact several terms in advance. That way he never has to cancel classes unexpectedly, and if it turns out he has somewhere else to be, at least he can have something to hand over to his substitute. But apparently, sometime a few months ago, someone broke into his office and stole the plans."

Luke's eyes widened. "They stole his lesson plans? Who would want something like that?"

"We don't know for sure; the only security footage we have is of a figure with a large coat entering and exiting the Professor's office. When we checked it the next morning, the whole place had been torn apart. Papers thrown about, books all over the floor… and the lesson plan had vanished.

"The Professor was understandably upset over this; he had lost both the plans for his summer class and outlines for fall. He did try to recompose the whole thing, but since he didn't have a backup (he didn't bother saving it to the computer, you see) it proved to be a lot of work. After a while, he gave up on it and decided to cancel his class for the summer to work on fall instead. Which was all well and good, since the time of the break-in was still some way away from the summer semester, and they figured he could use some time off anyway."

"So is that it?"

"I wish it was. A few weeks after the break in, before the start of summer, he went in one night to work on his fall plan. The next day it seemed that someone had broken in _again,_ but this time as far as we could tell they hadn't bothered taking anything… except, well…"

Barton had stopped talking. They both counted down the doors to Layton's office. Luke gave him a concerned look. "What? What happened?"

He sighed. "From what I have heard from the board, Layton fell asleep in his office late that night. The next morning a member of the cleaning staff came to see if he was still in, and found his office once again in shambles… and Layton himself was nowhere to be found."

He pushed open the door. Luke looked around the room which looked as if a hurricane had torn through it. Books were left open all over (which he guessed was normal for the professor) a large bookshelf had been knocked over and papers littered the floor.

Luke stood there in the doorway for a solid minute, not knowing what to say or to make of the situation. Barton looked as though he wanted to try and help, but he couldn't think of what to say.

"Do… you mean to tell me," he finally managed, "that Hershel was…?"

"We don't know for sure what happened," he admitted. "There are no signs of violence anywhere, nothing to indicate who it was. And the cameras seemed to have been disabled at the time. From what we can tell…" he sighed. "They're still calling it a Missing Persons case, but I believe he's been kidnapped."

There was another long pause. Luke stood staring at the wrecked office in disbelief. "…So you think he's alright, wherever he is?"

"Of course! I don't think the Professor would be bested by something like this. Wherever he is, he's probably planning an escape as we speak."

Luke forced a smile. The thought did little to comfort him; he had come out all this way to greet his old mentor only to find he'd been…?

"I'm sorry," said Barton, "this must be a lot to take in. Are you… are you feeling alright?"

"I…" He wasn't sure how to answer. "I'll be okay. It's just…" He was suddenly struck with a question. "When exactly did this take place, this suspected kidnapping?"

"Around the beginning of May… May 5th, I believe it was, just after the end of the spring semester."

Before Barton had finished his sentence, Luke had started sprinting back down the hall. He heard the Inspector yelling after him to slow down, but he kept going until he reached his car parked in front of the University. He quickly threw open his trunk and dug around in his suitcase until he found it: the letter that had arrived that morning. A quick glance at the envelope caused his eyes to widen further.

"Hey!" Barton yelled from the top of the stairs by the University door. "What's the idea dashing off like that? What could-"

"It doesn't make sense," Luke muttered.

"What? Speak up," he said as he walked around to join Luke.

"Look! Look at this," he said, waving the letter in the air. "I received this letter just this morning, take a look at the postmark." He pointed to a small stamp next to the return address. "See, Gressenheller always marks outgoing letters from the staff; the Professor has sent me enough letters that I know this by now. And this one is dated July 9th, just a week ago from today!"

Barton raised an eyebrow. "Wha – what is this? Are you certain this letter is-?"

"I'm positive," he reassured him. "I'd know the Professor's handwriting anywhere. And not to mention…"

He trailed off and looked around him. He hadn't realized both of them had been yelling in their excitement, and a couple of passerby had stopped to stare at the two.

"Erm…" he began, bringing his voice down. "Perhaps we can talk about this later. Maybe once you've finished whatever business you have in Hershel's office."

"Sounds fine with me," said Barton, who hadn't bothered to lower his voice. "What say we meet up at, hmm… oh, how about the White Tulip café? Just opened about a year ago, it's a small place but lovely, and they've got great sandwiches!"

Luke perked up at the mention of food; at first he hadn't realized that he'd forgotten to eat anything before he'd left for London, and by now he was starting to regret it. "Sounds good to me. I might head over there now and wait for you; there are a couple of things I need to think over for myself."

"Sounds good! Alright, I'll see you there in about an hour."

Luke nodded, wishing the Inspector good luck as he marched back up the steps. The heavy door slammed shut behind him.

He stood there for another moment, lost in thought. Something didn't add up… why would the Professor send him a letter _after_ he'd been supposedly kidnapped? Would whoever was behind it even allow such a thing? And if not then how…

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling. He chuckled. "Oh, right." He had to admit it was probably best to sit down for a bit and go over what he knew so far. And besides, he couldn't very well start investigating on an empty stomach.

…

As soon as he'd stepped into the restaurant, Luke found himself put at ease. The cool air hit him as he stepped out of the warm summer, as did the smell of fresh tea and quiet ambient music. And though there weren't many other customers present, the low chatter and clinking of dishes made perfect background noise for him to think over.

He looked over the menu, which had already been placed on the table, and quickly found he'd have a hard time deciding. Barton had been right, for such a small café they had quite the variety of sandwiches. He figured he'd just have some tea to start and leave that decision for later.

"Afternoon, sir!" He heard the waitress come up behind him, her voice light and friendly-sounding. "Welcome to the White Tulip. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Sure," he said, looking up at her, "I'd like some of your peach tea and some…" He paused for a second to stare at her. After a moment, her large, dark eyes stared back.

It was her to break the silence. "…Luke? Is that you?"

"I… Flora?"

She nodded. "Oh, Luke! It's great to see you again! I understood you'd moved back to Misthallery, correct?"

"Uh-huh! And what about you, you've been all over Europe haven't you? If there's anything to be gathered from the postcards you sent me a few years back."

"That's right!" She sat down in the chair across from him. "I settled down in London a while ago, right about the time this place opened up. I figured it must have been a sign, so I started work here and I've loved it ever since. So what about you? You never called, so I don't really know what-"

"Er, Flora?" Luke interrupted. "I'd really love to catch up, but… aren't you on the clock right now?"

"OH!" She quickly stood up and smoothed out her apron. "Right, sorry! I guess we can do this later, huh? So, what were you saying… peach tea and, anything else?"

"Hmm… an order of tea biscuits. That's it for now."

"Alright, they'll be right out!" She gave him a pointed look. "My shift will be ending in about half an hour, so don't leave until then, alright?" She winked before rushing off to the back of the restaurant to record the order.

He smiled as he watched her disappear around the corner. He seemed to be renewing a lot of old acquaintances today… unfortunately not the one he set out for, but still it was nice.

But back to business. Luke took out a small notebook from his bag, trying to write down everything he'd learned so far.

\- _Before summer: Prof. office raided, lesson plans stolen_

\- _May 5_ _th_ _(end of spring term) Hershel disappears, purported kidnapping_

\- _Early May: first in a series of robberies around London_

\- _May-June: four other bank robberies take place_

\- _July 9_ _th_ _: Gressenheller sends letter from Prof. Layton_

There were a lot of questions, sure, but seeing them laid out definitely helped. For now, he decided to focus on just one thing: the enigmatic letter.

"Here you are, Luke!" He looked up again at Flora's sweet voice; she set down a steaming cup of tea, along with a small floral plate filled with biscuits, smiling. "I'll come back in a bit to take your order."

He nodded gratefully as she practically skipped off to the next table. Luke bit the chocolate dip off the end of one biscuit and glared at his notebook once again.

The letter couldn't have been sent before the incident; otherwise there wouldn't have been a reason for the secret message. So wherever Layton was, he had access to the post…? That wasn't that great of a lead, but it was all Luke had to go on at the moment.

He had been at the restaurant for another half hour, sipping at his tea and going over and over the facts in his head, when he heard the bell above the café jingle again and Barton walk in. Either he was early or Luke had been there for longer than he'd thought. Either way, he gave a polite wave, ushering him over to his table.

"Did you find anything?" he asked as the inspector sat down.

He sighed, shrugging off his jacket and placing his hat on the table. "Nothing we haven't already known since May. It's just been so frustrating lately, there are no clues, no leads, not even any concrete proof that these cases are connected, except…" he paused for a second.

Luke raised an eyebrow. "So, what made you decide to go back today?"

"Er, well… to be totally honest, I was hoping I could find some of the Professor's puzzles lying around."

"Puzzles? What for?"

"Well…" he looked around for a second to make sure no one was listening in. "I guess there's no one better to ask than his old apprentice, eh? Alright, I'll let you in on something, but you've got to keep in mind it's top secret; the yard has asked me not to show these to anyone, but I think they'd agree you would be an exception to the rule."

He nodded. "I understand. Is it…?"

"Yep," Barton confirmed, pulling out five small slips of paper from inside his jacket. "These are the notes the Puzzler left at the scene of each crime."

Luke started to say something, but he stopped himself and asked: "Puzzler?"

"Oh, well…" Barton looked sheepish. "We, er… the thief never left a name or anything, so I've just taken to calling them the Phantom Puzzler. I don't know, I think it sounds cool."

"No, I like it," Luke assured him. "It's certainly fitting." The inspector smiled. "Now, let me have a look at those."

Barton handed over the postcards, which were unchanged other than being numbered one to five in the top left corner of each one. On the back of each one was a photo from a different location, Sweden or Ukraine or Ponta Delgada; in the message line, a puzzle was written, along with a small hand drawn illustration. Luke read over the first one:

 _A father and his son are chatting when the son poses this question: "Dad, I'm 22 now, but just how old are you?"_

 _The father replies…_

Wait a minute.

"I…" he stared more intently at the puzzle. "I've seen this before."

Barton's eyebrows shot up. "Have you?"

"Yes! When the Professor and I were investigating St. Mystere, I remember we solved this one together." He looked at the other four cards in his hand. "I wonder…" Quickly he flipped through the rest of them.

 _According to the diagram, A=2, B=3, C=3…_

 _You've scattered a deck of 52 cards and one Joker face-down on the table…_

 _You've inherited a five square plot of land that's rich with precious metals…_

"I've… seen _all_ of these before!" he said, fighting to keep from exclaiming it out loud. "These are all puzzles the Professor taught me. Barton, what do you suppose…?"

"I suspected they would be," he said. "It's just that I never found a way to contact you to confirm it. See, I think it's no coincidence the Professor was abducted just before the start of the robberies…"

Luke leaned in closer, intrigued.

"I suspect whoever's behind this has been forcing Layton to help with the robberies against his will."

Luke stifled a gasp, and was about to respond when –

"Here you are Luke!" The two men jumped in surprise to see the waitress standing over them, smiling and holding a tray; Luke hurriedly set his arms down on top of the postcards, attempting to cover them up. "One tuna salad sandwich and another order of tea biscuits." She looked at Barton. "Oh, afternoon Inspector! Luke didn't mention he'd be meeting with you. Well, I was just about to clock out for the day; mind if I join you boys?"

"Uh, erm…" Luke faltered, shoving the cards into his jacket pockets.

"Uh, no, not at all ma'am!" Barton offered warmly. "But first do you think you could put in an order for me as well? I'll have whatever Luke's having."

"Coming right up!" she said.

Luke looked at the inspector with a raised eyebrow.

"I know," he said, "but I can't just leave her out of this whole business, can I? The two of you _both_ traveled with Layton, Flora's opinion is just as valid as yours, Luke!"

"I know, but I… I just don't want to feel like I'm putting her in-"

Their soft conversation was interrupted by a loud, shrill beeping sound. Barton jumped, then grinned sheepishly. "Uh, heh… s'cuse me, that's er… I'd better take this."

He pulled out his phone and answered it, "Inspector Barton… yes, why?" There was a pause, and Luke watched as the smile slowly drained from his friend's face. " _Oh._ " He said, his voice grave. "Yes, I understand. I-I'll be right on the scene, thank you." He closed the phone and looked Luke in the eyes. "There's been an incident."

"In broad daylight?" asked Luke, who was becoming very tired of the word "incident" very quickly.

"There's no time, I have to get down to the station right away… er…" he scrambled to put his hat and jacket back on. "Tell Flora she can have my sandwich. I'll talk to you soon." And with that, he rushed out of the café.

It was only a few moments later when Flora came rushing up, two sandwiches and a plate of biscuits in hand. She saw the table and frowned. "Oh, where's Barton gone off to?"

"Uh…" Luke was still stunned silent; he had remembered something just then. He felt the inside of his jacket to confirm and found… oops.

Flora tilted her head. "Luke? Is everything alright?"

After a moment, Luke asked, "… Do you think we can get these sandwiches to go?"

…

"Are you sure?" Flora asked in disbelief. She paced back and forth around the den of her flat, as Luke sat on the couch looking over the postcards Barton had left behind. "Are you absolutely, positively sure?"

Luke swallowed another huge bite of his second tuna salad; Flora hadn't wanted hers, and he had been more than happy to take it off her hands. "That's just it, I'm not. That's the whole point; this is all just a theory, but I certainly don't think something this big would be a coincidence."

"Well then, what do you figure the thief needed him for? And what about the puzzles?"

"I have a couple of ideas. Perhaps the thief heard about the Professor's excellent strategic skills and figured they could use such a man. Maybe they're just a small-time criminal who had enough brawn but needed brains." He snapped his fingers, as if struck by a sudden idea. "Or maybe it's one of the Professor's old foes, using him as a scapegoat!"

"But still," Flora emphasized, "why leave behind a puzzle at each crime scene? Do the answers even have any bearing on the case?"

"As far as I can tell, none of the answers are related…" he sighed. "Maybe I'm just looking at them wrong…"

Flora slumped down in an armchair, arms crossed as she thought hard. Suddenly, she sat upright.

"Hang on, let me see those cards again, Luke."

"Oh. Uh, sure," he said, handing them to her.

Flora looked them each over, front and back, scrutinizing each one. "Wait a minute…"

She leapt up from her chair and dashed over to the bookshelf. Luke jumped to his feet as well as she yanked down an atlas and set it on the coffee table. "What, what is it?"

"Hold on, let me try something," she said, grabbing a pen off the shelf as well. She flipped through the map until she found an overview of Europe, then picked a card at random and studied the photo on the back. "Hmm… Ponta Delgada."

"Huh?"

"Ponta Delgada," she repeated, reading the name of the city off the card. "I went there once, the postcard is a picture of the Gates to the City, see? It's just off the coast of Portugal… right here!" She circled the small island in pen, then set the card down and moved on to the next one. "And here, Akureyri… that's a city in Iceland, right about here. And Kiev, the capital of Ukraine…"

Luke watched, almost awestruck as Flora circled and connected each different location, until at last she stepped back and the two of them looked over the map.

"It's… a star?" Luke looked back and forth between Flora and the perfectly proportioned star now drawn in front of them. He paused. "No, wait…"

Flora seemed to have had the same idea that Luke had, and pointed to the empty space in the middle of the shape: "There, directly in the center… Amsterdam."

"Amsterdam?"

"Or technically, the area off the coast of the Netherlands, near Amsterdam…"

They looked at each other, puzzled. For a long time, neither of them said anything.

"What do you think it means?" Flora finally asked after the pause. "Should we tell the Yard about this?"

Luke blinked. "They seem pretty busy at the moment. I think… we might want to look into this one ourselves."

He looked over to see Flora eyeing him with a mischievous smile. "You know," she said, "I was hoping you'd say something like that.


	3. Chapter Two

**(I AM BACK Sorry for taking so long to upload this one, I was waiting until I finished the next chapter but that's out the window. Writer's block hit hard. But anyway, enjoy one of MY personal favorite chapters... hehe :3)**

 **...**

Chapter Two: A Captive Audience

That evening, the London streets were packed. Traffic had come nearly to a standstill, and on the sidewalks citizens scrambled past one another to try and get closer to the scene. However, one figure was moving faster than anything else; a bright yellow streak wove between the stopped cars (to the disdain of most drivers). A dark visor was down over the driver's face, and on the back of the helmet a large logo reading "Daily Telegraph" was printed.

The scooter burst out of the crowded streets, ignoring the orange traffic cones, and screeched to a halt. In front of the park entrance crowded several police officers, a couple of parked cars, and an ambulance. A barrel-chested officer with salt and pepper hair whirled around as the driver began to stand up.

"Wha-? Oi!" he shouted, running up to the figure. "You're not supposed to be here! Bystanders are to remain behind police lines, and that _includes_ nosy reporters! And, er…" he started to say something but stopped himself, suddenly realizing who he'd been talking to.

The driver removed her helmet, her long, curly hair springing out. "Good to see you too, Inspector Grosky," she said jokingly.

"Emmy!" Grosky smiled. "I can't believe I didn't recognize you; there can't be two scooters that bright, not even in all of London."

Emmy chuckled. "You sure your eyes aren't going, Inspector?"

"WHAT? Of course not!" he exclaimed, offended at the mere suggestion. "I'm still fit as a fiddle! Speaking of which, how's your leg doing? Any better?"

"Well, yes and no," she answered, pointing at the brace on her right foot. "It was the left one when you saw me last month."

Grosky sighed. "Oh, Emmy. You've got to be a little more careful."

"I am careful!" she defended. "I just… gravity is just against me, that's all." She rolled her eyes as the inspector laughed heartily. "So," she said, quickly changing the subject, "what can you tell me about what's happened here today?"

"Oh, well there's been…" he trailed off. "Wait a moment… I'm sorry, Emmy, but I can't disclose anything about this to the public yet; friends or not, you're still a reporter."

"Oh, come on!" She took out her notebook anyway, still hoping to get some kind of info. "This isn't just for the Telegraph, you know; I've been following the Phantom since the first-"

"Wha- wait now! Who told you it was the Phantom?" There was a pause. "And more importantly, how do you know that name?"

"The Phantom Puzzler? Well, I talked to several eyewitnesses who said they saw a man in a black overcoat and a stovepipe hat fleeing the scene. We may have little info on him at the moment, but the same man has been spotted briefly at a few previous robberies." She smiled. "As far as the name, it was suggested anonymously to one of our Q and A columns a couple days ago; I think it was printed this morning, but either way I've been using it. I like it!"

"Hmm." Grosky paused as he went back over everything Emmy had just said. "Well, you're right; we suspect that it is the same criminal. Though there hasn't been any robbery this time."

Emmy's eyes widened. "What? Was someone murdered?"

"Wh – no!" he sputtered. "Of course not! There was an assault, however; the victim was stabbed in the side, far below the heart, thankfully. We're not sure why yet. He isn't in any state to talk about it just now."

"Are there any new leads?" She prompted, hastily writing everything down. She was trying to get as much information as possible, before Grosky realized maybe he shouldn't be giving it away.

For the moment, it was working. "Actually, yes! A weapon was found not far from the scene; the Phantom may well have dropped it in his haste to escape. Looks like he's not as slick as he thinks he is! All that's needed is to find the origin of the weapon and we'll have a trail that leads directly to the culprit!" The inspector crossed his arms and looked down at the sidewalk. "If this Phantom Puzzler thinks he can best Inspector Grosky of the Yard with his smoke and mirrors, well, he's got another thing coming! I will be the one to track him down personally, and when I do…"

He seemed to be slipping into a soliloquy; Emmy slid her notebook back into her pocket and began slowly mounting her scooter.

"…making sure that he is justly punished for-"

"Alright, it was nice catching up, inspector!" said Emmy, pulling on her helmet and starting her scooter. "Thank you for the information!"

She revved the engine, the roaring sound drowning out whatever protests Grosky had, and sped off.

She admitted to herself that she felt kind of guilty, but it was for a good cause, she was sure. The Yard had refused to let her help in the investigation, despite the work she'd done in the past to assist them, so she had opted to start her own investigation. Though she confessed that wasn't the only reason she was pursuing this case.

Emmy wove her way out of the traffic surrounding the park and joined up with the main road again. After a minute she found a small side street, leading out into a country road, and raced down that way. She wasn't going anywhere in particular, but the cool air and the sound of her coat flapping in the wind always helped her clear her head.

She thought back to the photo that would grace tomorrow's cover and sighed. A blurred, wide shot of a black figure running across a rooftop. Zoomed in one could make out a tall hat, the figure's right hand holding on to the brim, and a cloak or coat of some kind billowing behind, but other than that the thing was just a black blob. The photo had been taken by an everyday shopper, and wasn't even a proper photo so much as it was a still from a low-quality recording.

This was all they had. The first photo of this mysterious criminal. Submitted by a reader.

Emmy pouted crossly. She had been hoping to be the first one to photograph the Phantom, but that opportunity had slipped away from her. But now that they had that, there would be even more questions about who this man was and what he looked like.

And Emmy intended to be the one to give them answers.

…

 **(Did you know it's only a six hour drive from London to Amsterdam? I did not know that. That's like… half the time it takes to drive to Florida from here.)**

Luke awoke with a sudden start. He flung the sheets off the bed, panting heavily, and looked around the room trying to remember where he was.

Brown patterned wallpaper, a mini fridge in the corner, a small television sitting on a dresser… and a white tarp hung up beside his bed. Luke sighed. He and Flora had arrived in Amsterdam around midnight, and had opted to check into a motel for the night so that they could continue their investigation tomorrow. Luke laughed quietly to himself; that's two times in one day he had dashed off somewhere without a plan. He thought that habit had been left behind, but it seemed he still had some brashness in him.

He paused and realized something: he had forgotten _why_ he was awake in the first place. Did he hear something outside? Had a bad dream? Whatever it had been may be gone, but he was still wide awake now.

He looked at the nightstand, realizing that the clock was on Flora's side of the curtain and laughing. It had been Flora's idea; he had assured her that she wouldn't need it, but she had insisted. So he gently pulled back the corner of the sheet to look at the clock.

 _3:08 AM._ Yikes. Flora had been planning on getting them both up bright and early, but maybe this was a bit earlier than she'd planned. Luke lay back down to see if he could get back to sleep.

But after a while of tossing and turning, it became clear that that wasn't getting him anywhere.

He groaned in exasperation. Now that he was awake, his mind was racing with questions again, and they refused to let him off easily.

He waited for another few minutes, wondering if this was really the right thing to do. But after a while, he sat up and crept out of bed.

Well, they'd come this far; why stop when they were so close?

He tiptoed over to the dresser, where he'd left his clothes from the day before draped beside the TV. As he changed, he tried his best to suppress the guilt he was feeling. He would be fine; he'd just go to the location, look around for a bit, and be back in time to scope it out more thoroughly when Flora woke up. It wasn't like he planned on going on an entire investigation without her. In fact, after what he'd seen of her clue solving skills, he wouldn't dream of leaving her behind! He just had to sate his curiosity… that was all.

Taking one last look around the room, he put on his cap and slowly closed the door behind him.

The midnight air was warm and humid, and judging by the sky Luke guessed it was going to rain soon. He frowned; the forecast hadn't said anything about rain until later tomorrow, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. He remembered what Flora had said about the clue on the map, and set off north towards the docks.

The air became colder and colder as he approached the water. The wind sent chills through him, and he held his arms to his sides, trying to draw the jacket around him closer. In the distance he could hear the low moaning of the wind and the lapping of waves against the pier, but other than that there was not a sound to disrupt his walk.

Just as he started to approach the sea, a thought occurred to him that stopped him in his tracks.

 _Why did those puzzles lead us here in the first place?_

The question came so unexpectedly that he heard himself gasp out loud. But it was a valid point. What kind of a criminal would have a reason to lead someone directly to them? Generally, the opposite seemed to be true. Could it have been that the message had been left for someone else?

No, no that wouldn't work either. If it was meant to be classified, it would have been delivered in a classified manner, a manner which couldn't be discovered easily by the police. So then, why would they bother…?

Luke began to gradually realize the answer, around the same speed at which he realized that, while he had been lost in thought, he was slowly, deliberately being surrounded.

Of course. Of _course_ it was a trap.

…

The Professor was rather amused with himself.

He had debated for a while whether the clues in the postcards would work as a legitimate puzzle, and whether anyone at Scotland Yard would even be able to put them all together. But that was the fun part, wasn't it? He had known he'd wanted _some_ way to introduce himself, to introduce London to this character, this Phantom Puzzler. Not quite the name he would have chosen, but it had a certain quaint charm to it.

He stood up and paced around his platform, built a bit like an elegant throne room, overseeing the rest of the hall. But of course, he didn't want to make it easy for them. It wasn't his nature; and he figured a little puzzle solving might make it more interesting for all of them.

But he hadn't expected this, for his men to contact him at the most ungodly of hours to tell him, not only had someone solved his little puzzle, he'd come alone, unarmed, and completely unprepared.

He chuckled, soon dissolving into a rather embarrassing, giddy laugh. It was just so exhilarating! So many twists, though some of them weren't as pleasant. He regretted the accident in the park that morning; he had meant to take the one witness to his last robbery _alive_ , he truly did hope the man was alright. But regardless, this one, _this one_ promised to be most interesting.

He heard the large door behind him open, and he froze with his back to it. Should he have prepared a speech or something? Is that what people in his position usually did? Regardless, he straightened his hat and his collar, attempting to compose himself before he greeted his guest.

"The Phantom!" he heard a voice exclaim behind him. He raised an eyebrow; something about that voice sounded very familiar… "What do you want with me?" the man demanded.

The Professor smiled. "I feel like I should be asking you the same question," he said, still keeping his back to them. "After all, you're the one who so eagerly walked into a trap, a very obvious one in my opinion, just so you could find out who was behind it all." He grinned as he could feel eyes boring into his back, and continued. "And from what I hear, you aren't with the police, either, are you? In fact, you weren't with anyone at all…" He turned around, flipping his wrist slightly to give his coat a dramatic, billowing effect. "So what made you think that you…"

Silence fell. He stared down at the man being brought before him, one guard holding onto each of his blue-sleeved arms, and a blue newsboy cap perched atop his brambles of messy brown hair.

He blinked, but the man was still the same, staring back at him with the same bewildered, childlike eyes.

After a long pause, the man spoke again. "… Professor Layton?"

Layton tried for a few seconds to respond, but ended up floundering; in one of very few instances in his life, the Professor was at a loss for words.

Finally, he shouted, "Guards, what are you doing?! Let this man go at ONCE!"

The two looked at each other, concerned, but did as he said and released Luke's arms. He slouched over, stretching them out, and looked back up just in time to see the Professor bounding down the stairs.

"Luke!" he said, ecstatic. "It was _you!_ I should have known it would be you; no apprentice of mine would permit such a puzzle to elude him." Layton was simply overjoyed, and he was just as glad to see that some of that had worn off on his old friend.

Finally, it seemed Luke couldn't contain himself. "Professor!" he shouted, throwing his arms around the man. Layton was somewhat taken off guard, but he certainly had no qualms and was happy to return the hug. It had been years since the two had seen each other; circumstances aside, he was glad to see that Luke was well.

"It's good to see you too, Luke," he said warmly.

"I'm just so glad you're okay!" Luke exclaimed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Okay?" he questioned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…" The young man let go for a moment and looked the Professor over. "I-in your letter, you were warning me to stay out of London. I assumed you were just trying to keep me safe, what with you being…" he was beginning to sound less sure of himself. "…you know, kidnapped?"

"Oh!" The Professor let out a short laugh. "Oh, my dear boy," he said, still smiling congenially, "forgive me, I expected the police to fall for a ruse like that, but I didn't imagine you would have."

"Eh? Wha… what do you mean?" His voice was mainly inquisitive, but somewhere inside it was a hint of dread.

Layton sighed. "Come now, Luke, you've already guessed it, haven't you? Remember, you mustn't let what you _want_ to believe get in the way of the truth."

"And what truth… might that be?" he asked, trying to hide it but looking shaken.

Luke wasn't going to say it, was he? Should _he_ say it? Well, why not, he figured; he'd never had a reason to announce it out loud before.

"Why," he said, smiling in spite of himself as he felt the excitement bubbling up again, "that I am the Phantom Puzzler."


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Questions and Answers

Flora's eyes fluttered open at the high-pitched beep of the digital clock. 7:30, time to start their investigation. She humphed; it wasn't as pleasant of a sound as the one she had at home. Nonetheless she sat up and stretched out, feeling quite well rested.

"Morning, Luke," she said with a yawn, "up and at 'em!"

She stared at the white sheet hung up in the middle of the room, hearing nothing but silence from the other side.

She smirked. "Oh, come on," she prodded. She stood up to take a look out the window: it was drizzling slightly, and the morning fog still lingered. "It's a beautiful day for an investigation!"

Luke still wasn't answering. Flora rolled her eyes, but still she decided to give him a break; he'd had a full day yesterday, so she didn't blame him for sleeping in a little. She closed the curtains and started dressing for the day (Luke had protested to dividing up the room, but it had its uses for sure).

To be honest, she wasn't sure what she thought they would find here. Obviously, they wouldn't go directly to the location the cards had pointed to, at least not until they had more information. She figured she could start with asking around town if they'd heard of the Phantom Puzzler, and if they'd seen anything lately that may be connected to the thief. Just like old times, she figured!

But before that, they should focus on getting some decent breakfast.

"Hey Luke," she asked, pulling on her rain boots, "what do you want for breakfast?"

She smiled, expecting Luke to respond right away, but was once again met with nothing but silence.

Flora scowled. "Luke, come on," she said, finally throwing back the tarp. "I know you're tired but we've got to…"

Empty. The bed was empty, the sheets thrown on the floor by the bedside. For a moment, Flora's eyes widened in panic. She quickly looked around the room, and found that Luke's clothes and shoes had also both gone missing.

Having learned this, her face very quickly transitioned from worry to annoyance.

To no one in particular, she muttered, "I _thought_ we were past this."

…

"Ah, morning Luke!"

Luke blinked, jolted out of his thoughts by the sudden sound of a door opening. He looked up and saw… well, exactly who he'd been expecting to see.

Hershel Layton sauntered into the dining hall. He looked almost exactly the way Luke had remembered him, save for a few new creases around his eyes… and he appeared to be bald, though it was difficult to tell beneath his signature top hat. He also wore a black overcoat, which fanned out behind him as he walked, and a monocle over his left eye. He carried a tray, which contained an ornate porcelain tea set.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," he said. He walked up to Luke's side of the table, setting down one cup and saucer for him. "Do you have a preference?" he asked. "Assam? Earl grey? Perhaps good old-fashioned English breakfast tea?"

Luke Triton didn't answer for two reasons: first, he was still stunned silent from this whole situation, and second, he knew very little about the nuances of tea and wouldn't have had a preference anyway. He shook his head.

"Not a problem," Layton assured him, selecting one at random and pouring the hot water for him. He put down the cream and sugar dishes as well. "I'll just leave these here," he said with a grin, and returned to his side of the table.

Luke watched as he idly sipped his tea, trying to think of something, _anything_ to say. How was he supposed to feel right now?! Professor Layton was sitting directly across from him with a contented smile. Layton, whom he'd worked alongside for years as an apprentice. Layton, who had assisted Scotland Yard in solving a huge number of crimes… Layton, who, mere hours ago, had confessed to him that _he_ was behind the latest one.

He hadn't had much time to explain anything last night; he'd insisted that Luke go to bed shortly after their reunion, which he supposed he needed, but it could have been better timed. Luke wasn't really sure where he was, but judging by the huge empty hallways and abundance of guest rooms he guessed it was an abandoned castle of some kind. But either way, before now he hadn't had any chance to talk to the professor, or to ask him seemingly the only question his mind was capable of forming at the moment: _what the hell are you thinking?_

Another black-clad guard came into the room, carrying two identical plates: a mushroom omelette with bacon and sausage links on the side. She wordlessly set one on each end of the table. Layton thanked her, she nodded and left the room as quickly as she'd come. Luke briefly wondered who she or any of the other guards were, before the Professor cleared his throat.

"Now," said Layton, now that he was sure they'd be free of distractions, "I won't bore you with small talk. I have a hunch that you have a few things you'd like to ask me about, yes?"

Luke wasn't sure what he would have said, had that singular question not blurted itself out at the first opportunity. "What the hell are you thinking?!" he exclaimed.

The Professor paused mid-bite and blinked in surprise. "… I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," he said.

Luke fumbled with his words. Should he bother trying to be polite? Because with the conflict he was feeling, manners didn't seem like his first priority. No, screw that, he intended to say what was on his mind… if he could find a way to translate that into speech.

"I mean, you… er, why would…?" So far he wasn't off to a very good start. "What do you have to…?" He slammed his fist on the table, hearing the china clink together. "I THOUGHT you were in danger, Professor!" The statement had surprised even him, but he supposed that was a good place to start.

The Professor suddenly looked concerned. "Oh." He set down his teacup and looked at his protégé. "Oh, Luke, I didn't realize. I didn't mean for you to worry about me," he assured him, "I was only trying to set up an alibi, but I didn't consider how that must have affected you… I apologize for any distress I may have caused you."

 _It's a bit early for apologies, don't you think?_ But Luke kept his quips to himself for now, more concerned about the new question that had arisen. "An alibi?"

The man smiled again. No, it wasn't so much of a smile as it was a smirk. "Indeed, it would be difficult for me to have any involvement with the Phantom if I had been one of his victims. Don't you agree?" He paused to take another sip of tea. "Originally, I just needed an excuse to drop my summer classes without it seeming suspicious, hence the stolen curriculum. But then things got complicated, I couldn't oversee such a large-scale operation behind the scenes; I needed a way to be there in person." He seemed more than happy to be sharing all of this, as if he were telling an anecdote from a recent vacation.

Luke on the other hand was growing increasingly more concerned. "What kind of operation?"

"Ah," he said, holding up one finger, "I hope you will allow me _some_ secrets. Though I will assure you England isn't in any danger; I don't… intend to harm anyone."

Layton looked away for a moment, looking almost guilty… Luke didn't like the way he had enunciated the word "intend".

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. He looked down at his tea, which had surely been steeping for long enough; he took a sip and recoiled at the strong taste. He dropped a large handful of sugar cubes in, ignoring the look he got from the Professor.

"So," he said, trying to fill in the silence with something other than the sound of his spoon hitting the sides of the cup as he stirred. "Why…" he began, but found he had no good way to follow it up. There were too many questions as to "why", and none of them seemed to add up.

"Be specific, Luke," the man repeated, amusement playing into his voice… was he enjoying this? "And," he added, "be sure to eat that before it gets cold, eggs are no good cold."

Luke had nearly forgotten about breakfast. He didn't really have an appetite, but he guessed he was right. He took a few large bites while he thought about how to word his next question. He wondered for a moment if maybe his food had been tampered with – but, no, that just wasn't like the Professor… though to be fair, he wasn't so sure of that now. He nonchalantly slid his plate away after a couple of bites.

"What I mean," he tried again, "is why would you… well, why would you do any of this?" After another pointed look, he corrected himself, "What need do you have for robbing banks? And why set up such an elaborate trap?"

"Well, as far as the first point, I suppose the same reason anyone would rob a bank. I needed money to get this whole affair set up, didn't I? And I couldn't very well do so on a teacher's salary. As for the latter, er…" He sounded almost embarrassed. "Well, since we're friends, I'm going to let you in on a secret: the only purpose of that was so that I could introduce myself. Or rather, introduce the Phantom Puzzler, as I've come to be known. A bit theatrical, I know, but it was quite fun to plan the whole thing out. Of course, I hadn't been sure if anyone would even solve it at all, much less that it would be _you_. I did have a hunch…" he chuckled. "My famous intuition, as you once-"

"But," Luke interrupted, "you still haven't answered my first question." He added in response to the Professor's raised eyebrow, "I know _why_ someone would rob a bank, my question was why _you_ would. I mean, you…? It's just not… very…"

"Laytonesque?" Layton suggested, chuckling. "Ah, Luke. I expected this sort of questioning… Though I can't say I've managed to properly word an answer. Let's see…" He seemed to be putting a great amount of thought into finding the perfect explanation. "Ah! Got it. And, now, I hope you don't mind me following your question with another question: why do people ride thrill rides at amusement parks?"

… Luke wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that one.

He leaned in closer to look Luke in the eyes. "The answer," he said, "is right there in the name. For the thrill of it.

"There were quite a few things that aided in it, actually. The repetition of teaching, each new semester starting to feel more like a bad remake of the last. Keeping an eye on the news and looking for new mysteries, just to have something to do. And throughout it all a small but assertive voice telling me to chin up, bottle it down and act like a gentleman."

At that last word, Layton's voice seemed to drop a bit deeper. It became cooler, almost resentful; he looked down at the table, gaze hardening into a glare. "For years I'd been letting that… that expectation control me. A gentleman mustn't make a scene in public. A gentleman does not overexpress excitement. A gentleman always puts the needs of others before himself." Each new example held more contempt than the last. "Can you imagine what that does to a person? For years I've lived afraid of expressing myself, of doing things for myself, of really trying to find out what it is I _want_ to do at all! And now… now, after all that I put up with…"

He looked up at Luke and smiled. "Well, I think I've earned a little _fun_."

For just a moment, it was a smile of pure manic glee. Of someone who knew the consequences, good and bad, of what they were about to do and couldn't wait to see them come about. He'd seen the same smile more than twenty years ago, on the face of a masked man as he orchestrated the destruction of Luke's home town… it startled him so much that he nearly fell out of his chair.

But it lasted only a second, before Layton returned to his usual countenance. "Well," he said, pushing away his empty plate, "it has been great catching up. But I think I may have mentioned before that I have a lot I need to get done today. I did mention that, didn't I?" He paused. "Well, either way, I need to get going; I'll let the guards know you want to finish your breakfast before-"

"Wait, WAIT!" Luke shouted as Layton began to stand. Luke jumped to his feet as well. "That's it? You – you're not going to tell me anything else, you're not going to explain or anything?"

"I thought I'd explained it fairly well." He shrugged "Either way, I'd love to talk to you some more later, hopefully when I'm less busy. It shouldn't be much longer now!" He turned to leave the dining hall despite Luke's protests. "Someone will be by to escort you back to your room shortly."

"Wha – but, wait," the young man sounded apprehensive. "How long do you intend to keep me here?"

Layton looked back as he stepped through the door, looking him in the eye. He winked, but said nothing. A second later, the door slammed shut between them.

…

To say that tensions were high at Scotland Yard would be an understatement. Commissioner Chelmey had called two of his inspectors to discuss what they knew about this most recent criminal, and frankly, neither of them had said what he'd wanted to hear.

"You _lost_ them?!" he shouted in disbelief at Inspector Barton. "How did you manage that? Those postcards weren't ever supposed to leave the station in the first place; they were valuable evidence!"

"W-well, I told you sir," began Barton, "I didn't _lose_ them, I know for a fact that Luke has them. He just left before I could get his contact information! All I wanted was to bring them to him to see if he could help us-"

"Well, why not just bring Luke HERE?"

He faltered. "… I didn't think of that," he admitted.

"Obviously," Chelmey said, crossing his arms.

"Now, you can't blame him for everything," Grosky jumped in, attempting to defend him.

"Well, what about you, then?" the Commissioner interrupted. "Spilling private case info to some reporter with a pretty face? I heard the whole story from Constable Colby."

Grosky opened his mouth to retort, but this time Barton stepped in before his associate could say anything he'd regret: "Actually, that was no ordinary reporter," he explained. "Don't you know? That was Emmeline Altava! She was Hershel Layton's personal assistant during some of his most difficult cases!"

Chelmey looked surprised; obviously that detail had eluded him. But still he replied, "Well, nonetheless, the woman obviously had other intentions in mind. I wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow morning we found all of it on the front page of the Telegraph!"

"Now listen here, Commissioner," Grosky asserted, "I've known Emmy for years; she's a brilliant puzzle-solver and a good friend of mine. And if I know her, I know she doesn't intend to share any information with anyone. If anything she's already sped off on her scooter to begin an investigation of her own!"

"Sir, if I may suggest," said Barton, "we currently need all the help we can get with this case. Without a way to contact either Luke or Hershel, Ms. Altava is without a doubt our best bet."

"You won't find a better candidate in all of London!"

"Now, hold on just a minute," Chelmey said, "who ever said we needed to call in assistance in the first place?"

"… Frankly, everyone but you, Commissioner," Barton said with a shrug.

Chelmey said nothing for a moment. He didn't want to admit, he _really_ didn't want to admit it, but they had a point: they hadn't had much luck solving this on their own. In fact, they had next to nothing to go on at all. They needed someone with an analytical mind, to help them put some of these pieces together.

The two Inspectors looked at him expectantly. Finally, he sighed, "How can we contact her?"

...

 **(And there you have it, folks! I gotta be honest, this was probably my favorite chapter to write so far, so definitely let me know what you think of it! Thanks for all the story favorites and follows so far, it really means a lot.)**

 **(Oh, and before I forget; for the time being, I'm just going on canon from the PL games already out. Since I haven't played the crossover or Mystery Room yet, and since Lady Layton isn't even out, I figure it's just the best way to go about things ^^; I may eventually rewrite this story to have Catrielle but for now, enjoy the AU!)**


	5. Chapter Four

**I realized this evening that I had a bunch of chapters already finished, just kind of sitting on my computer collecting digital dust. I did NOT realize it had been a year since this had updated (apologies to all the followers of this fanfic), nor do I know if I'll ever continue this, but I'm going to make an effort to publish what I already have. Maybe in editing these previous chapters I'll find the motivation for it. Either way, here ya go!**

 **…**

Chapter Four: Miscalculations

Luke groaned in frustration. "Perfect! Just _perfect!"_

He paced up and down the length of his room… well rather, the room he was currently trapped in. It was a nice, almost lavish guest bedroom: the wallpaper was a swirling, deep red, the soft carpet the same. And there was no shortage of entertainment, either, with a TV, a small radio, and bookshelves practically lining every wall. None of those were of any use to him.

He went back to the room's one window; it was large, large enough for him to stand on the sill, and the view that morning of the sunrise over the waves had been spectacular, but he wasn't there for the view. He looked down and sighed. It was a long, long way to the ground, and the only thing in between was a balcony. Which was _quite_ some ways below him.

He frowned. He remembered wondering that morning why there were no curtains on the window, and now he knew why. The Professor had obviously done this on purpose, taking away one of his only methods of escape.

The Professor… Luke clenched his fists in frustration. He just didn't know what to think! Had Layton really grown _tired_ of being a gentleman? Had he decided that a life of crime was actually a better use of his talents?!

He slammed a fist on the windowsill. "What are you _thinking,_ Hershel," he growled aloud. "What do you expect me to…?"

He forced himself to take a deep breath. "Alright, calm down," he told himself. There would be plenty of time for this later, but for now, he'd have to keep a clear head if he was going to get out of here.

Luke looked around the room again. There wasn't much by way of furnishing except a reclining chair and a twin bed. He wondered if the sheets on the bed would even be enough to get to the balcony; it was difficult to tell from directly above, and a miscalculation could complicate matters further. But nonetheless, it was all he had to work with.

Luke marched over to the bed and started throwing the blankets to the floor. In his hurry, he almost didn't notice a small piece of paper go fluttering to the ground.

He looked at it for a moment as it landed face up, and his eyebrows rose.

 _Puzzle 006: Bed Sheet Breakout_

… He stood there, squinting in suspicion.

"Well," he said, but wasn't sure what should go after that. After a little while, he picked up the paper and unfolded it. The inside sported a diagram of several rectangles and a hand-drawn illustration of a woman at the top of a tower looking out a window. The puzzle read:

 _A princess is trapped in a tall tower! Rather than waiting on some heroic knight to come and rescue her, she has decided to escape herself, using a rope made from the sheets on the bed._

 _There are two sheets and one quilt, each a slightly different size. She knows that the twin bed is 90 x 190 cm, and only the fitted cover is that exact same size. In addition, each sheet will lose 7 cm of length each time it is knotted._

 _Since the sheets obviously won't stretch the length of the whole tower, the princess has set her sights on the balcony 7 meters below her window. Will she be able to reach it?_

Luke blinked.

Now, that was unexpected. Actually, knowing the Professor, he supposed he should have seen it coming, but still… why was this here?

"You wouldn't have just given me an escape route, would you?" Luke mused, though he knew Hershel couldn't hear him. "You wouldn't make it that easy for me…"

He took another look at the puzzle. "… Of course, math puzzles aren't exactly _easy_ in my opinion."

He looked up, scanning the room. He wondered if he'd be able to find a calculator anywhere. There was a ruler on one of the bookshelves, and a desk which had plenty of pens and scrap paper, but something told him he wouldn't be quite so lucky.

He sighed. "Well," he said resolutely, "may as well give it a shot."

…

Flora tried not to look anxious as she waited for a response. She took a step forward, away from the marketplace foot-traffic and closer to the fruit stand, where the woman behind the counter had a ponderous expression.

"A blue-hatted man, let's see… mm, no, I don't believe I've seen anyone around here like that."

Flora sighed. "I thought that might be the case. I've asked all over and it seems like no one has." The saleswoman looked at her sympathetically. "Maybe I should go back to the pier again," she mused, "see if I missed anything…"

"Wait, hold on," the woman interrupted her as she was beginning to walk away. "The pier?"

Flora turned back around, her eyes lighting up hopefully. "Yes," she said. "My friend disappeared sometime last night. That was… well, I didn't see him head that way but I assume that is where he went."

"Oh! That must be why they were gone!"

"Who was gone? Where?"

She stepped up to the counter again and leaned in as the woman explained. "My husband runs the fish stand over on the other side of the street. The past few days he's been telling me about these thugs in black coats that would loiter by the docks, he'd see them every evening when he went out to fish. But just this morning, he told me they'd gone!"

Flora's eyes widened, but she still said nothing.

"My husband's in the habit of staying out later than he should, y'see; they were still there when he left at around 11 or 12, and when he returned sometime past three, they'd all left. Perhaps your friend had a rendezvous with them? Or maybe-"

"What did you say they looked like?" Flora asked, not wanting the woman to worry for her.

"Oh, there were several of them that would change out each night. One of 'em he said had a pointed chin and moustache, and another always wore sunglasses, even in the dead of night. And all of them wore black, single breasted coats."

Flora nodded, going over the details once more in her head. "Alright, I think I got it. Thank you so much, ma'am!"

"Not at all, dear; good luck finding that friend of yours!" she called as she walked away through the market.

Flora smiled. It had taken her practically all morning, but she had finally found a lead; now all she had to do was keep her eyes open.

The wind picked up for a moment, and Flora shoved her hands into her jacket pockets to shield them from the cold. True, the dark grey hooded jacket was much different from her usual panache, but it was warmer than her dress and certainly less conspicuous.

Kidnappings, robberies, and thugs in black coats? Obviously, the Phantom was the master behind all of this, but as for his reasoning she just couldn't put her finger on it. First Hershel had disappeared, and now Luke? Was she going to be next?

Well, even if she was, she'd make sure she found the criminal before he found her.

There was another blast of wind, and her eyes snapped up from the stone streets just in time to spot him: a man in a black coat was walking hurriedly away from one of the produce stands on the end. She looked up just in time to see him turn, the light reflecting off his dark sunglasses.

Flora grinned. She wasn't certain if this was even the man she was looking for, but she'd have to be quick if she was going to find out. She wove through passersby quickly, doing her best to keep up with his long strides. After she was out of the market and in the open it became somewhat harder to tail him, as he would occasionally look back over his shoulder, but she became used to sticking to the curb and staying near objects she could dive behind for cover. Eventually he stopped looking for her and simply strode ahead, Flora in pursuit.

In the distance, Flora could just make out the silhouette of a massive structure by the coast. She and Luke had seen the castle on the way into the city, Flora remarking on how she'd love to see what it looked like on the inside.

 _Seems I may just get my wish,_ she thought.

She hung back for a moment, making certain that there were no guards in the courtyard or up ahead. She figured there ought to have been; where else could they all be? Still, it made it easier for her.

She crept up behind him as he approached a massive door and swung it open; inside there appeared to be a long hallway leading to an open space, with a closet to the right of the door. She smiled, a plan already beginning to form in her mind.

 _Just sit tight, Luke,_ she thought as she slipped in just as the door was closing, _I'll be there soon._

…

" _Finally!"_ Luke slammed down his pen with decisiveness, leaning back and looking at his calculations, pleased.

He had come up short on the first few tries, and he'd begun to wonder if the entire puzzle was a red herring, before he realized that the sheets would need to be measured diagonally in order to get the most length out of them. After adding each one and subtracting the length of the knots, it measured just shy of 7 meters.

He snickered to himself. "Every puzzle has an answer," he muttered.

Luke wasted no time in preparing his means of escape, making sure all the knots were tied tightly, but still trying not to lose too much length tying them. Then, double checking that it was securely fashioned to the window's crank, he cautiously stepped up onto the sill.

A gust of ocean wind took him off guard, and he clutched tightly to the rope while he tried to stand his ground. Once it died down a little, Luke took a deep breath and tossed the rope down to the balcony below, smiling proudly as it brushed the short stone wall surrounding it.

As he climbed down, he realized that seven meters wasn't nearly as far as it looked from the window; it only took him a few moments to get close enough to drop to the balcony. He landed in a crouch, the door to the room already opened as if it had been waiting for him.

Inside was a standard bedroom, very similar to the one he'd just left, and on the bed by the wall, another note.

It was obvious what it was before he picked it up and read it.

 _Puzzle 007: Line of Sight_

 _This part of the castle has many twisted, labyrinthine hallways. As such, guards have been posted at every intersection. They each have excellent eyesight, and are able to see all the way down any hall no matter how long, but each guard will turn to the right every thirty seconds. Are you stealthy enough to navigate around all of them?_

"A… another puzzle." He looked up to the ceiling in a questioning way. "You mean to tell me, Hershel, that you set up a puzzle in the last room, _leading_ to a puzzle? That this one is my reward for solving the last one?" Luke wasn't angry, of course, he loved the Professor's puzzles and was enjoying the challenge. But he was starting to get a bit concerned. How many of these were there? And if Hershel had set them all up himself, how did he know that they would even lead him to his escape?

For now, he figured he'd have to put doubts out of his head. They weren't doing him any good, and besides, this was the only lead he had. He spent a few moments studying the map. This seemed like a particularly easy one, simply wait for the right moment and then sneak by. He nodded and straightened his cap, then eased the door open so as not to cause it to creak.

He noticed two things the moment he stepped out into the hallway. Firstly, that there were in fact no guards posted at any intersections, at least not as far as he could tell. And second, perhaps the reason for it, was that the guards seemed to be preoccupied with the dark-clad figure barreling straight towards him. He almost didn't recognize her with the hood pulled up over her face.

Luke had ample time to step out of the way of the figure, who was looking back over her shoulder and watching her pursuers. Given his state of surprise, however, all he could think to do before they collided was exclaim:

"Flora, what are you doing here?!"

…

In one of the castle towers, in a smaller room dubbed the "Observation Room", the Phantom Puzzler was trying and failing to be patient.

"What do you mean, you didn't see them?" the Phantom demanded. "How could you not have seen them?!"

"I-I'm sorry, sir," the guard behind him stammered, wringing his hands together as he attempted to come up with a suitable excuse. "I s-suppose I just wasn't paying attention-"

"Oh, well THAT much is obvious!" he retorted. He turned his attention back to the monitors and scowled. He'd been enjoying watching Luke making his way through the puzzles he'd set up. In that way, it was much more gratifying to have him here rather than a random civilian or member of Scotland Yard; watching his former apprentice actually make _use_ of what he'd taught him over the years gave him a sense of pride for the boy.

And then, out of nowhere, comes this _intruder_ , this random hooded figure who decided to drop in and spoil his fun…

He took a deep breath. "And you didn't get a look at their face at any point?"

"N-no, sir," the guard admitted, "I never even saw them come in behind me, I just felt someone shoving me into the coat closet…"

There was another silence. Layton watched as the two of them, specks of blue and black on the monitor, came to a large door that _would have_ marked the final puzzle for Luke, had he stuck to the grid.

"It won't happen again, sir," the guard added desperately. "I swear."

The Professor made no move to turn around, his voice betraying nothing of what he was feeling. "I should say it won't," he said levelly. "Let them leave."

 _"Sir?"_

"Rather," he corrected himself, "get everyone to drive the two of them out. Make them feel as if they have no choice but to leave."

"Oh! Yes sir! I'll let the others know and we shall report back when-"

"Ah, there's no need for that."

"… I beg your pardon, sir?"

"When you finish this task, you may return home if you wish. Tell the others they may do the same."

"A-are you _firing_ me?"

The Professor didn't answer his question. "Your work here has been sufficient, and you can expect your final payment to arrive sometime within the week. Good day."

…

Luke's mind was racing just to keep up with his feet as Flora dragged him by the arm, leading him through twisting hallways that were _surely_ not practical, even for a castle. The guards had since fallen behind them, but they had to make sure they maintained the distance.

"So," Flora began, sounding out of breath, "this about who I think it's about?"

Luke didn't know how to respond. "Er…"

"The Puzzler, the Phantom Puzzler," she clarified. "He's the one who kidnapped you?"

"Er, yeah, that's right," he said.

"Well, what about Hershel? He's been abducted too; did you see him while you were here?"

"Well," he began. He wasn't exactly sure how to explain this, and if Flora would even believe him if he could. "Yes and no," he said vaguely.

Flora jerked his arm as they turned around a corner. He hoped she knew where they were going, because he couldn't make north or south of the place. "What's that supposed to mean? Did you see him, or didn't you?"

"I-it's complicated," he explained, "I can probably explain it better when I'm not running for my life." He paused for a moment to catch his breath. "But I'll reassure you that Hershel Layton is alive and well." _Whether sane or not is questionable…_

"Ah! That's understandable, it's good to know he's alright. I hope we'll be seeing him soon though."

Luke bit his lip. "I have a feeling we might…"

"Aha, here we go!" Flora brought the two of them skidding to a halt in front of a large door, locked by a pinpad. "Wha- but this is the back door!" she complained. "Who locks the _back door_ from the _inside?"_

"Erm, Flora," Luke pointed out, "I believe it might be because of this." Both of them turned their attention to a plaque hung above the pinpad:

 _Puzzle 010: Combination Lock_

"Oh," said Luke in a disappointed voice, "I must have missed a few."

She gave him an incredulous look. "Come on Luke, now really isn't the time to worry about that!" Flora countered as she continued reading the puzzle.

 _The door is protected by a 4-digit combination lock in which no two digits are alike. You only have three tries to guess the correct combination, or the alarm will sound! However, you do know a few things about the sequence:_

 _All four digits added up equal a multiple of seven._

 _Two of the digits are prime numbers._

 _The first digit is the second lowest._

 _The fourth digit can be divided by the second._

Luke made no effort to conceal his groan. "Another math puzzle?" he lamented.

Flora rolled her eyes. "Oh, come now Luke, math isn't all that difficult." She had already begun tapping in several strings of numbers, promptly erasing them when they did not meet the specifications and starting with a new sequence. "Let's see, if the prime numbers have to be two out of the first three…"

"HEY!" a voice roared from the other end of the hallway. "You there!"

"Uhh," Luke started, gritting his teeth, "You may want to hurry it up just a-"

He was interrupted as the door beeped loudly, the hatch unlocking and allowing Flora to swing it open. "4359," she explained.

"Excellent," said Luke, "now come on!"

Locking arms again, the two of them bolted out the back door and onto a rocky beach. Behind them they could hear the guards shouting and trying to catch up, but they simply smiled and continued forward.

Luke spared one last glance back at the castle. He wondered how he was even going to explain all of this to Flora when he didn't fully understand it himself, when he couldn't even pinpoint how he felt about the whole ordeal…

And yet, a part of him shared Flora's sentiment from before; he truly hoped that the Phantom… that the Professor, would be alright.

…

That night, Hershel Layton sat once again in the hall where he'd first seen Luke, which he supposed would be the throne room, deep in thought. The castle was once again empty, save for himself. The furniture that hadn't already been found _in_ the abandoned place had been removed, and his guards were gone without so much as a polite nod goodbye.

 _It's well enough,_ he thought. They had been useful in getting the operation set up, but he quickly realized the troubles of managing such a large group, most of which were frankly incompetent without direct orders. It gave him a bit of respect, at least, for the Family, how they had been able to keep everyone under control so effortlessly.

It would come with practice, he supposed. This game was still new to him, and he was having trouble grasping the rules.

He smiled. Though it would be a lot more fun now that he was playing with an opponent, he thought. He wondered, would Luke go to the police and try to convince them of what he'd seen? Possibly, but given the new addition to the alibi he'd been setting up, that Hershel had escaped from the Phantom Puzzler's despicable clutches while the guards were busy chasing after Luke… and that hooded figure. He had his suspicions of who it might have been, whether a friend of Luke's or simply a detective that had been searching for the Phantom, but found only a witness. It was all shaping up to be quite exciting!

Although… he supposed this made it two against one. True, with Scotland Yard investigating he could technically count it as more, but this wasn't about them. This was about the competition, the sport; whatever happened on the field was simply a means to determine the victor.

But the fact remained, even if he couldn't control a large group at once, he still didn't want to work alone. But who could he possibly get to assist him? It would have to be someone he was close to, someone he could trust, someone who felt the same way he did…

His train of thought stopped. A slow smile spread across the Phantom Puzzler's face as an idea occurred to him. He fished around in his coat pocket, pulling out a small black notebook which he had been using earlier to compose puzzles, and along the side of one page he wrote a reminder:

 _Saturday, invite Randall to London for tea._


End file.
